


I Could Ask for Nothing More

by wonderluck



Category: Copycat (1995)
Genre: F/F, First Time, Post-Canon, Shameless tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:54:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27679696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderluck/pseuds/wonderluck
Summary: MJ did things by the book. She didn't do things likethis.And yet...
Relationships: Helen Hudson/M.J. Monahan
Comments: 12
Kudos: 17
Collections: Femslash Exchange 2020





	I Could Ask for Nothing More

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SadieFlood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SadieFlood/gifts).



For the first two days of her hospital stay, MJ dreams of crime scene tape and Reuben’s blood. In her dreams, she breathes gunpowder and hears the echo of Helen’s wild laughter. The morphine drip makes everything swirl together, makes everything distorted, and in her dreams she doesn't save anyone. When she wakes, she remembers she’s half-right.

When she acclimates to the drugs enough to watch bad TV, she thinks this must be what Helen has tried to sustain: a numb haze where the memories are tucked back further in her mind. Harder to reach.

The days are filled with visitors and flowers and boredom. She offers to do Pach's backlog of paperwork if he would only bring her a cheeseburger. She wonders how many appeals Daryll Lee Cullum has before he can't outrun his execution.

She wants to call Helen, even turns on her work cell and looks up the number, but she does not make the call.

When it's time for Reuben’s funeral, she can't go. She argues with the doctors about leaving the hospital to attend until they threaten to call her next of kin because the drugs are obviously clouding her judgment. She doesn’t want to worry her mother.

During the service, Nico dials the phone in her room and holds up his cell so she can hear, and in her faded, oversized hospital gown, she lets herself cry.

/

MJ leaves the hospital before she makes it through the recommended two weeks.

She knocks on Helen's door three days after. She doesn't really care if Helen wants to see her or if she closes the door in her face, she just wants to get eyes on her.

MJ hears the slide of the locks and then there she is: Helen, alive and breathing. Helen glances from MJ's face to the sling on her arm.

She looks tired, but manages a smile. "I was wondering when I'd see you again. How’s the shoulder?” she asks. No _hello_ , almost as if they hadn't been apart for weeks.

”I think my breakdancing career might be over.”

She gets a genuine smile out of Helen and returns one of her own as Helen closes the door behind her. It’s strange being back here. She wants to ask how Helen can stand it.

“Drink?” Helen asks. “Coffee?”

MJ sighs. “Coffee, please. I shouldn’t drink with my meds.”

“Never stopped me."

MJ notices she’s drinking water. MJ didn’t know she touched the stuff.

"How are you?" MJ asks as Helen disappears into the kitchen.

"I'm not in the midst of a breakdown, if that's what you're asking."

"I wasn’t," MJ says. "And no one would blame you if you were. Hell, I'm halfway to a breakdown."

"Anxiety attacks?" Helen asks.

"No."

"Nightmares? Depression?" Helen says, and she's in full clinical mode.

"I didn't come here because I need a shrink, Helen. I've already got one of those assigned to me."

Helen reappears with mugs of coffee. She shrugs. "You brought it up."

MJ doesn't stay long. 

/

MJ returns two nights later. It's not like she has anything to do but ping off the walls at her apartment and there's only so much cleaning she can get done with one arm. 

Helen seems glad to see her.

It's after midnight and MJ keeps things light. She is telling one of her old war stories.

"…And the guy is a cliché. He ducks in an alley and makes us chase him into a restaurant kitchen, almost like he planned it. He tries throwing things, knocking things over, but I circle around while my partner distracts him and I clock him with a cutting board,” she says. “I didn't realize I had lettuce in my hair until I got home that night."

Helen smiles at her and takes a sip of her drink. She's moved on to brandy. "No one told you?"

"Part of the hazing, I guess."

MJ reaches for her glass of water and gasps in pain. Her shoulder throbs.

"When was your last dose?" Helen asks.

"Don't worry about it," MJ says and drinks her water.

Helen rolls her eyes. "You do know I had to go through med school to become a psychiatrist, right? You can't heal if you're always in pain."

So much for healing then.

"What was med school like?" MJ asks, deflecting, and she knows it won't fly, but she tries anyway.

"Don't change the subject," Helen says and gets off the couch. She fetches MJ's purse near the door and sets it on the coffee table. "You got to boss me around, now I get to return the favor."

MJ scoffs. "I remember you being awfully defiant."

Helen ignores her and gives her a pointed look.

MJ sighs, defeated. "Side pocket."

Helen fishes out the pills, and MJ glares at her as she swallows them. "Happy now?"

"Elated," Helen answers.

They still don't talk about the night at the lecture hall.

Half an hour later, MJ yawns. The vicodin is making her feel tired and fuzzy. "I should go."

Helen pats MJ's thigh and climbs to her feet. "I can make up the couch for you," Helen says, and it sounds very much like _no_.

MJ's first instinct is to argue. Her second instinct is to kiss Helen, and no, that won't do. Goddamn painkillers.

"No, really," MJ says, and her words are coming out slower than her brain forms them. "I'll call a cab."

Helen gathers a pillow and blanket from the hall closet.

"You think I’d let you get in a cab in this state?"

MJ relents.

/

She hears Helen startle awake in the middle of the night. She sits bolt upright and listens. Helen is already on the stairs, and MJ watches her cross the room in the low light. Helen pops open a prescription bottle at her desk and shakes some pills free.

"Wanna talk about it?" MJ asks.

"Jesus," Helen says, half-surprised and a little out of breath. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's okay," MJ says. "Nightmares again?"

Helen nods. "You don't have them? Do you really not feel fear?"

She sits next to MJ on the couch. MJ doesn't expect questions. She usually asks the questions.

"No, I feel it," MJ says, and her voice is softer than she intended. "Sometimes I can push it away. Try to, at least."

Helen tells her about Andy’s funeral. She tells her she doesn't plan to write a book, and talks about selling her apartment, but she can barely have a meal on her own patio.

MJ listens.

Eventually, MJ starts to nod off, though she fights it, and Helen moves to the computer to quietly play chess. MJ falls asleep to the blue-white glow of the monitors.

/

In the morning, MJ offers to make eggs if Helen makes coffee.

"In a sling?" Helen asks, amused. "I'd like to see you try, but I think I can handle it on my own."

MJ feels a flutter in her chest at the sight of Helen's teasing smile, warmth spreading to her limbs. This is trouble. 

She listens to Helen put the kettle on because of course she doesn't have a regular coffee maker.

MJ sits at the counter watching Helen work and checks her voicemails. Her mother called about their annual family camping trip. MJ makes a note to call with an excuse.

“Did you go camping as a kid?” she asks Helen.

“Yes.”

“Putting up a tent, s’mores, the whole thing?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Helen answers a little firmer this time. “You don’t believe I camp?”

MJ laughs. “Now? Definitely not. Then? I don’t know. I just figured you were the kind of kid with your head in a book working toward dual degrees at age 12.”

Helen rolls her eyes. “I was not a prodigy, not even close.”

“Oh my God," MJ says, feigning shock. "Did you get a B in Chemistry? The shame.”

“I’ll have you know I got a few Cs in high school. I smoked a little too much the first semester of sophomore year.”

“You what now?” MJ is not able to hide the very real shock on her face.

“Is that so hard to believe?” she asks. “Between the two of us, I wouldn’t imagine it would be you, the stand-up Inspector, all buttoned up."

“Hey,” MJ protests. 

“So?”

“No, you’re right.”

“I expected no less. Is there anything you’ve done that would surprise me?”

It's not sarcastic—she seems genuinely curious, an odd attempt at a “getting to know you” question. 

“I’m not really the wild kind,” MJ starts.

“And I like that about you.”

MJ wonders if Helen is flirting. “Something surprising? Not sure I've done anything really surprising. On the job, sure. I've got more stories. But the rest?” She pauses and squints, thinking hard. “I have a photographic memory. But that's not something I've _done_." She pauses because she's reaching now. "I’ve never been married.”

“Engaged?” Helen asks.

“Twice,” MJ says. “Neither stuck.”

“No man can get MJ Monahan to settle down, huh?”

MJ bites at her lower lip. “Not exactly.”

“Oh?” Now Helen’s intrigued.

“Jim was too nice,” she says. “And Alice... it just didn’t work out.”

She watches Helen’s face closely. If Helen is surprised, she doesn’t let on. But MJ feels better having shared something personal. She had seen the gory details of Helen’s life. It was only fair.

"I never quite got there myself," Helen says. 

/

At home, her shoulder aches. More often than not, she skips her dose of meds and clenches her jaw against the pain.

Helen’s voice is in her head: _You can’t heal if you’re always in pain._ MJ thinks she may take her own advice a little too far.

She doesn’t know why she’s drawn to Helen, but she is. It’s Helen’s job to analyze people, so MJ isn't sure she can hide anything from her, even with her talent for masking emotion. 

She needs to be busy. She needs to be back at work, so she fills her time with preparations: an aggressive physical therapy schedule, follow-up appointments, scheduling her psych eval. She badgers Lt. Quinn every other day.

/

She doesn't stay away. 

After another night of conversation, MJ heads for the door.

“Should I bring a movie next time? I can swing by the video store, maybe pick up some takeout?”

Helen casually leans against the door frame. “That sounds a bit like a date.”

“No, no, nothing like that.” MJ avoids her eye, rubs at her temple.

“Well,” Helen says. “That’s a shame.”

_Oh._

“Until next time,” Helen says like she didn’t just upend MJ’s world right there on her doorstep.

MJ can’t find her words, just watches the door close, hears the locks flipped.

/

She waits three days before she returns to Helen’s apartment. She takes a cab again because she still can’t drive, and stops at the video store, agonizing over a selection before deciding to play it safe. She grabs two classics: a Billy Wilder and a Hitchcock. She’ll let Helen choose.

“Hi,” Helen says as she opens the door.

“Hi.” MJ tries to remember how this should go.

MJ worries her bottom lip between her teeth before stepping inside in a rush. Helen closes the door behind her.

“What did-what did you mean when you—” MJ’s well-conceived speech disappears from her brain. _Great._

Helen smiles at her. “Was I unclear?”

“I just...” MJ makes a frustrated noise and takes Helen’s hand, leading her to the stairs. She takes the first step and turns on her heel. They’re face-to-face and Helen is laughing lightly when MJ leans forward and kisses her, cupping Helen’s cheek with one hand.

It takes a split second for Helen to respond, and when she does, MJ realizes she wasn’t fully prepared. Helen snakes an arm around her waist, pulling them flush together, lips sliding against hers. 

MJ pulls away, gasping. “Please tell me I wasn’t wrong to do that.”

“Not at all,” Helen says. “But I guess you need more evidence.”

Helen leans in and kisses her deeply. MJ melts against her.

“Jesus, Helen,” MJ says as she breaks away after long minutes.

“Better?” Helen asks.

“Absolutely.”

/

Not much changes the next time they see each other. They sit closer on the couch, sure, and Helen sneaks a kiss in the kitchen, but otherwise it’s not unlike before.

MJ gets cleared for desk duty. Helen doesn't hide her disappointment well. She gives MJ a key to the apartment.

Not long after, MJ returns home after a long shift to find her smoke alarm chirping. Low battery. 

“Don't do this to me now,” she says.

She digs through her desk drawer, junk drawer, nightstand, and closet in search of batteries. It's hard to do at speed with her arm still in a sling for another week. 

She’ll never be able to sleep with this noise. She sighs and picks up the phone.

“Did I wake you?” MJ asks when Helen answers.

“Not really,” Helen says, an obvious lie. MJ hears her fumble for her glasses on the nightstand. "What time is it?”

"It's late. My smoke alarm is—" On cue, the alarm chirps. "is doing that and I—"

"Come over," Helen says, not waiting for her to finish.

/

Helen's apartment echoes as MJ steps inside. Most of the furniture, save Helen’s desk and chair, is gone. 

“Wait. Are you really moving?” MJ asks.

“No, just redecorating. The furniture should be here tomorrow.”

Even the walls are bare. The place feels cavernous.

"I didn't realize that."

"You didn't ask," Helen says and stifles a yawn. “How was work?” 

MJ likes how casual this has become. 

“Murder, mayhem, paper cuts. The usual.” She pauses, and it dawns on her that the couch is gone. "It's okay if I sleep here?"

“There’s plenty of room for you.”

MJ glances around the empty apartment. “Where exactly?” she asks. “Andy’s room?”

“I cleared out Andy’s room weeks ago,” she says. “I did keep my bed. I’m not an idiot.”

MJ presses her lips together and nods silently.

“Is that a problem for you?” Helen asks, so relaxed about it it's irritating because the thought makes MJ's heart race. 

MJ clears her throat. “Of course not. Just need to get rid of my coat.”

Helen starts up the stairs. “Turn out the lights on your way up.”

MJ removes her coat, flips off the lights, does a second check of Helen's locks. She rounds the corner to Helen’s bedroom and spots Helen sitting on the edge of the bed, combing her fingers through her hair. She’s in a navy satin nightgown. 

MJ allows herself to look for just a moment before she brushes past Helen and makes for the other side of the bed. Her face feels hot. She turns her back toward Helen and toes off her shoes.

“There are some pajamas in my dresser,” Helen offers.

MJ feels very much like she’s 16 years old again, and attraction is an awkward thing to navigate, and she’s never been good at any of this, and why hadn't she just hit the smoke alarm off the wall with a broom?

MJ dresses in the bathroom, and Helen's already in bed when she emerges. 

"Goodnight," Helen says as MJ climbs into bed, and she switches off the light.

MJ tries to sleep, but she can't.

It's not like they haven't kissed. This thing with Helen just feels very fragile. Perhaps it’s the circumstances, and this would be easier if their relationship had a normal trajectory, if they hadn’t seen each other bloody and shaking with fear.

Helen had been quick to invite her over, and she conveniently forgot to mention a missing couch. Maybe Helen is expecting more from her, or maybe it’s all in her head.

MJ turns to face Helen’s sleeping form. “Helen,” she whispers.

Silence.

“Helen,” she tries again, louder.

“Hmm?”

The rustling of the duvet is loud in the dark.

“I’m in your bed,” MJ starts and wow, not the opening line she had hoped for.

“You are,” Helen confirms with a yawn.

“Was this...” Just say it, she tells herself. “Was this intentional?”

“You think I got rid of all of my furniture to get you into bed?” Helen asks, and MJ knows she’s halfway to laughing, can hear it in her voice. 

“When you say it like that, it sounds silly.”

“It's late," Helen says as she turns over once more. "Get some sleep.”

MJ shifts closer. 

Helen sighs. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

MJ laughs lightly. “I’m really not.”

Helen turns onto her back and takes a breath.

“So if I did plan all of this to get you into bed with me—“

“Did you?” 

“I did not,” Helen answers definitively. "I didn't expect you tonight. This is your doing. But it’s not... an unpleasant outcome.” She reaches for MJ’s hand.

Helen sleeps through the night.

/

Two weeks later, Daryll Lee Cullum escapes during an afternoon shift change at San Quentin. 

MJ dials Helen's number on her cell, balancing the phone on her shoulder as she unlocks her squad car.

"Come on," she says to herself, jamming her key in the ignition. The phone rings. Three rings. Four. Five. "Pick up, Helen." _Please._

MJ doesn't stop for one traffic light, driving fast enough to frighten pedestrians into remaining on the sidewalk, and the siren blares on the roof of the car. She tries Helen's phone again. Helen doesn't pick up. She dials Nico and leaves a message.

She pulls into Helen's parking lot and nearly clips one of the cars as she screeches to a stop. Up the stairs, quick and precise, drawing her gun from her holster. She checks the door handle; it’s locked.

She half-expects to see a pool of blood on the doormat.

MJ's preparing to kick in the door when she realizes she has a key. Key in the lock, gun at the ready, and she bursts into the apartment.

"Helen!" she calls out. It's not department procedure, but she doesn't give a shit.

She moves through the apartment methodically, clearing corners, checking Helen's office first. At the foot of the stairs, she hears the whine of a hair dryer. She takes the stairs at double-time.

"Helen?" MJ asks outside the bathroom door. When there's no answer, MJ pushes the door open.

"Jesus Christ!" Helen yells and drops the hair dryer.

MJ feels her body relax a bit. She doesn't explain, just unplugs the dryer and leads Helen from the bathroom by the wrist.

"You need to get dressed," MJ says, rifling through Helen's dresser for the necessities. "Fast."

Helen is silent. She’s halfway dressed before her hands tremble to the point where she can't get her sock on. MJ stills her hand, takes the sock, slips it onto her foot. She does the same with the next sock.

"Can no one do their fucking job?" Helen asks, anger mixed in with the fear, while MJ finishes dressing her. "I can't do this again. I can't—"

MJ takes Helen's face in both hands. She wants to tell Helen that everything will be fine. "You can," she says, and she wipes away a tear with her thumb. "I won't leave your side."

They're at the bottom of Helen's stairs when they hear sirens getting close. Helen crushes MJ’s hand in her own as they step outside. By the time they reach the parking lot, Nico is out of his car, hand on his gun, and he does a full 360, glancing over the tops of the cars.

MJ stuffs Helen in the passenger seat of her car, fastens her seatbelt, and shuts her in. Rounding the front of the car to the driver's side, she gives Nico a hopeful look. _Maybe no one dies this time._

/

There are two plain clothes cops posted outside the safe house in their cars. There's another cop sitting on the deck behind the house in a lawn chair. They're not taking any chances.

MJ and Helen are alone in the house. Helen vehemently refused any additional uniforms because they couldn't keep her safe last time, so how the hell could they now? MJ pulls rank to back her up. 

Helen paces the house and insults the décor. MJ thinks it might make her feel better to lash out at something close. At least it's not her. Otherwise, Helen barely speaks. She flips on the television to monitor the news.

MJ checks in with the station. She asks the Lieutenant if the FBI has any leads.

Hours later, Helen moves to the kitchen. She flips off the overhead fluorescents, removes a glass from one of the hideous cabinets and turns on the tap. She drinks half the glass in one go and sets it down on the counter so hard that MJ is surprised it doesn't break. MJ hovers outside the kitchen entrance.

"Helen?" She's not sure what to expect. They have been in this situation before—well, not quite like this, and MJ prays they don't end up in that fucking blinding white restroom again—but MJ never had to witness Helen's sustained unease this close before.

Helen looks at her. MJ can't see her fully in the dim light of the kitchen, so she moves closer. When Helen reaches out, MJ goes to her willingly.

"Please," she whispers against MJ's lips as she kisses her and it makes MJ's knees weak. Helen steps away from the counter to brace herself on the wall. She pulls MJ with her.

Helen's lips are bruising against hers, hands pulling at her desperately, grasping, though MJ couldn't get any closer if she tried. Helen's thigh is between her legs because MJ's thigh is too low to be useful. Helen's hand, low on her back, pulls her forward and increases the pressure. MJ gasps against her mouth.

Helen is intoxicating, but MJ manages to remember that 1) they're in a safe house and 2) Helen is in her protection and 3) they absolutely should not be doing this on police property. 

When MJ had pictured her first time with Helen, it did not feature the sound of an automatic icemaker and a house surrounded by colleagues. 

It's not ideal, but when had any of this been ideal?

So she slides her hand between them, unfastens Helen's pants, and moves with muscle memory. Helen finds MJ's mouth with her own, panting against her lips, kissing her breathless. It's not long before Helen comes in sharp, trembling exhales.

Helen barely catches her breath before she takes MJ by the hips and spins her, planting MJ's back against the wall. She opts to fall to her knees, less on edge now, but still thrumming with need. 

This, _especially_ this, is not supposed to happen. MJ can excuse her little impropriety because Helen is actively avoiding her own murder and MJ could help calm her. Aside from that, MJ is just doing her job.

The glow on Helen's face—the one MJ put there—says otherwise.

Helen holds MJ's gaze as she unbuckles her belt, slowing as she waits for permission. A jumble of thoughts vie for attention in MJ's head: Top of her class at the academy. Her pristine file as an officer.

She did things by the book. She didn't do things like _this._

And yet...

MJ unzips her skirt and helps Helen pull it free of her hips. "They'd have my badge for this," MJ says, glancing toward the front door as Helen trails her hands over MJ's thighs.

"Don't be so dramatic," she says. "You'd be suspended, possibly."

MJ laughs, quick and quiet, because she finds she doesn't care. She doesn't care because she could die today. She doesn't care because she wants this.

Helen runs her fingers under the hem of MJ's shirt, grazing lightly over her stomach, following with her lips.

"Worth it," MJ says.

"You'd make a pretty cute mall cop, though."

And Helen proceeds to draw shuddering gasps from her, then soft, wordless cries.

/

When she tucks Helen in to bed, Helen curls on her side under the thin blankets.

"We should have done this sooner," Helen says. She doesn't need to specify. They're still glistening and warm from their encounter.

"Why didn't we?"

"Maybe I didn't want to offend your southern sensibilities," Helen answers.

MJ laughs, then sighs. "Were you scared?"

"Were _you_?" Helen asks.

MJ pauses before she speaks, just a beat longer than normal. "Yeah."

"I don't want to be afraid anymore."

Helen falls asleep shortly thereafter. MJ sits beside her, gun at her hip.

She waits.

/

MJ still hasn't slept when she gets word that Daryll Lee Cullum was shot after a freeway car chase. 

MJ is on the phone with the station. Helen sits on the couch drinking from a flask. MJ doesn't try to stop her.

"You're sure it's him?" MJ asks the caller.

When MJ looks over at Helen, relief on her face, she doesn't need to say a word. Helen buries her face in her hands and cries. She moves on to laughter, not joyous but filled with solace, and cries again, briefly, a few quick sobs.

MJ hangs up and sinks down beside Helen.

"So, it's over?" Helen asks, wiping at her eyes. 

"Yeah," MJ says, reaching for Helen's hand. "It's over."

/

Helen takes on part-time consultation work. She leaves the house for more than an hour at a time, does her own grocery shopping. She works toward normalcy. 

MJ gets a new partner, and she tolerates him. Mostly.

MJ doesn't bring alcohol into the apartment and Helen stops buying it. They agree not to discuss the details of their cases at least one night a week. "Murder-free night," MJ calls it.

When MJ tiptoes in after long shifts and slides under the duvet, Helen always turns and holds her. Sometimes Helen doesn't speak, as if she's still asleep, and MJ smiles against Helen's chest.

MJ’s new normal was better than she could have hoped for.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from "Una Furtiva Lagrima" from the opera L'elisir D'amore.
> 
> I’m so glad I finally got to write this pairing for you after you wrote two beautiful stories for me. Hoping against hope that you didn't read the unfinished rough draft I accidentally posted earlier. Sorry this is late in the fest, but I hope you enjoy it.


End file.
